


You Should Have Called

by Curupia



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Cuddling, Derek is hurt, Fluff, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mention of Kate being a bitch, Mention of Scott and Kira, Spoilers for 3b, Stiles gets angry, based on a tumblr prompt, blood and gore slightly, cannon death talk, post S3B, tickle fight
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-12
Updated: 2014-05-12
Packaged: 2018-01-24 11:30:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1603547
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Curupia/pseuds/Curupia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Based on a tumblr prompt (http://officialteenwolfprompts.tumblr.com/post/83669174171/sterek-prompt-hurt-derek): Derek is injured by another Alpha/other supernatural being and isn’t healing. Stiles patches him up and let’s him stay.</p>
<p>3B spoilers and cannon. Set a couple months after the end of 3B.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Should Have Called

It took Stiles a good fifteen minutes to realize that the low  _thump, thump_ he kept hearing intermittently wasn’t coming from his music and was, in fact, coming from the front door.

Curious, seeing as how Scott was currently on a date with Kira. Stiles should know; he’d been told about a zillion times since she’d suggested it on Monday. It was Friday now and Stiles (along with his hair which he’d been on the verge of pulling out) had never been so relieved to be sitting alone watching Netflix on a Friday night.

He made a stop off his in dad’s room before padding down the stairs in socked feet, wolfsbane-bullet loaded 9mm in his hand.

Just in case.

He was about to peer through peephole when the person one the other side of the door yelled his name and he nearly jumped out of his skin.

_Fucking werewolves._

He flipped the safety back on the gun and tucked it into his waistband, unlocking the door and wrenching it open.

The ex-Alpha’s crumpled body fell at his feet, as if he’d been leaning heavily against the door for support.

“Jesus Derek, what the hell happened?” He stood staring down in shock.

Derek was covered in blood; so much so that it was difficult to determine a point of origin from the cursory once over Stiles was giving him. There were slashed across his back that looked suspiciously like claw marks, his left leg had a piece of jagged metal sticking out of it at an odd angle, and from underneath the shredded remnants of his blue tee shirt (Stiles’ favorite too, dammit) he could see what appeared to be more slashes, though whether from claws or a knife, Stiles couldn’t tell.

“Uh, a little… help… here Stiles.” Derek struggled to get the words out while trying to stand at the same time.

Stiles knelt down and pulled the wolf’s arm over his shoulder, doing his best to avoid hurting him more and getting blood all over his own clothing; failing miserably at both.

He managed to get them both inside somehow, closing and locking the door behind them. Not that a normal door lock would likely stop whatever angry enemy Derek had faced.

He would set up a mountain ash perimeter after he got Derek cleaned up if he needed to.

Speaking of…

“Dude, what happened to you? And why didn't you go to Deaton? He’s way more qualified to deal with these injuries than I am. I suck at sewing.” He eyed the deep gashes in the man’s skin, fighting to keep the nausea at bay.

“I was jumped by an Alpha a couple miles from here. He’s been… taken care of…” He paused, needing his breath to finish walking up the stairs. Once they plateaued at the hallway landing he began again. “I’ll heal. I don’t need you to stitch me up, I just need to get the wounds cleaned. You…” He paused again, pushing out of Stiles’ arms and limping over to sit on the close toilet seat. “Your house was close.” He finished, glaring at a spot on Stiles’ bathroom tile like it was the most offending thing he’d ever seen.

“Yeah well, glad I could be of convenient service.” The younger man replied, maybe a bit more bitingly than he should have. Now wasn't the time to get annoyed about not being Derek’s number one preference and instead just the closest stop.

Or the fact that the first contact he’d had with the man in over two weeks was simply because he was too close to bleeding out to go anywhere else.  

He sighed and rubbed a hand over the back of his neck.

“Alright.” Stiles clapped his hands together, making the wolf wince. “Shirt off; get in the tub.” Derek gave him an unimpressed look. “Do you know how difficult it is to get blood out of tile grout?” Sadly, _Stiles_ did. He hadn't before the last few years.

An exasperated sigh was his only reply, but after a moment the piece of cloth that really couldn't be called a shirt anymore was tossed into the trash can and the were climbed into the bathtub.

“Ok, gimmie a sec to get the peroxide, alcohol, bandages… I’ll need a rag to pull that-” Stiles’ rambled inventory was cut off by the sound of a strangled howl. He turned back towards the bath in time to see Derek finishing up extracting the metal in his leg, blood gushing from the newly unplugged hole.

_Thank God that didn't happen on the rug._

The fact that _that_ was the thought that ran through Stiles’ head first should have probably been a warning sign that his life had gotten too bizarre.

“Jesus man, you were supposed to wait for me to…disinfectant and, and, things…” Stiles’ brain had momentarily short circuited in the face of Derek peeling his blood soaked jeans off of his body. The action involved a lot of flexing and a moment in which he lifted his hip in the air, which was when Stiles had completely forgotten how to use the English language.

The jeans landed in the trash can with a _slosh_.

“I told you, I don’t need your help. I just need to-” Derek gritted his teeth, attempting to pull himself up on his still bleeding leg.

There was a string of cuss words as he slid back down to a sitting position, injured leg completely useless apparently.

“Uh, you were saying?” Stiles quipped sarcastically, making his way over and lining up his supplies on the porcelain edge.

He put the gun he’d been carrying on the counter and divested himself of the flannel shirt he’d been wearing, tossing it and his socks into the laundry basket and making a mental note to start that load immediately or the blood would set in. After that, he took the removable shower-head down and pointed it away from Derek as he turned on the water and adjusted the temperature to a Goldilocks approved not too hot and not too cold, trying the whole time to block out the fact that he was essentially giving a dressed-only-in-tight-black-boxer-briefs Derek Hale a sponge bath.

He’d had worse Friday nights.

Probably more degrading and pathetic ones as well.

Not that he wasn't down with bathing Derek. He was _so_ down with that. Preferably under better, less life threatening circumstances…

“Stiles.” Derek growled, eyes closed, nostrils flaring.

“Look, I’m not gonna make you say it and you certainly don’t have to tell anyone about this. Ever. But you need my help, so just deal with it buddy.” He began with the leg injury, rinsing away the blood and washing carefully with antibacterial soap while trying adamantly to ignore his proximity to Derek’s groin.

The wound had slowly started to knit itself back together by the time he was done; a sight he was glad to see.

“Ok, scoot forward a bit.” He guided Derek closer into the water, running long fingers over the wounds in a careful way that he was all too accustomed to doing by now. The beta amazingly allowed himself to be manhandled into the different angles Stiles needed him in in order to have access to the numerous injuries.

“Why didn't you call for backup? You could have been killed.” He shook his head, scrubbing dried blood off of the slowly healing shoulder.

“Scott and Kira had plans. Peter and Malia are off training. Who was I supposed to call?” In the three months since Allison’s… passing -Stiles still had a hard time even _thinking_ it- and Isaac and Ethan leaving Beacon Hills, their evil fighting group had become somehow even more broken than it had been before. Everyone was just too tired to care anymore.

Not that that stopped the bad guys from coming at them.

All it meant was that Derek tried his damnedest to take on everything by himself so no one else would be “bothered” by it. If there was an award for martyr of the year, he’d be up for it. Stiles knew he was only doing it so that Malia, Kira and Scott wouldn't be put into those situations, but it still sucked.

“ _I_ wasn't busy tonight. Obviously.” He grumbled bitterly.

“That would have been a great idea.” Derek snapped. “Then I would have gotten the opportunity to explain to your dad _and_ Scott, _my Alpha,_ why your lifeless body had been ripped to shreds. You’re right. I’ll definitely call you next time.”

Stiles did not give into his pettiness and scrub just a _little_ bit harder that was necessary over the cuts on Derek’s back.

Or at least, if he did, no one could prove it.

“Still. You shouldn't have gone by yourself.” He huffed, rinsing the blood out of the wash cloth as best he could before tossing it into the hamper.

He helped Derek to his feet, but he could tell it was barely needed anymore. The gash on his leg was almost closed and he’d stopped bleeding completely.

Derek’s body was warm where Stiles was touching him, helping the muscular form get his bearings.

_Scott and Kira baby-talking; naked grandmas; needles; sliced open flesh…_

He tried desperately to distract himself from thinking too much about the way Derek’s wet skin felt under his fingertips or the fact that his face was mere inches away from that gorgeous stubble and those soft, worried lips. He would die of embarrassment if his body chose this moment to respond inappropriately. Not to mention the fact that it was beyond wrong to be thinking about that sort of thing right now. His friend had just been nearly killed; this was not the time to be ogling, no matter how good water droplets looked on him.

Great. He started to blush.

“So, um, yeah, I’m just gonna,” he pointed with his thumb towards the door. “You can take it from here. The towel on the rack is clean, shampoo is over there; I’ll go see if I can find you something to wear.”

He closed the bathroom door behind him and got a towel out of the linen closet to dry himself off. He’d gotten about as soaked as someone could get without actually getting in the shower himself.

After changing quickly into some dry night pants and a new superhero tee, he fished out a pair of black sweat pants and a tank top, that he was pretty sure belonged to Derek at some point anyway, out of what he had dubbed “the drawer of spare/left over clothing that doesn't belong to me for when people show up at my house bloody.”

This was not his first rodeo.

(It was also called the “clothes Scott forgets to take home with him,” drawer).

He left the outfit at the door to the bathroom, then waited, antsy, at his desk until Derek limped in. His damp hair was leaving tiny beads of water rolling down his neck and the top he was in fit snugly against his abs, but Stiles ignored it.

As best he could.

“Do you need a ride?” Stiles had to physically stop himself from face-palming at his choice of words.

Derek blinked at him, face blank.

“Home, that is. Do you need a ride, in my jeep, back to your apartment?” He added for clarification, mortifying himself even in more in the process.

Derek shook his head slowly, like his brain was taking a bit longer to catch up than it should. Maybe that Alpha had given him a concussion.

“No. I can walk.” He took a step forward and had to reach out to steady himself against the dresser.

“Uh yeah I don’t think so buddy. You look like you’re about to fall over and your wounds aren't even completely healed yet, I can still see some blood on your shoulder. Here, just take a power nap and you can make a break for it when you can climb out the window without falling off my roof. Deal?”

Stiles gestured from Derek to the bed, trying to convey his message as best he could. The guy still looked a bit dazed, but he grudgingly limped his way over to the bed and sat down, propping his elbows on his knees and scrubbing a hand over his face. The other hand reached out and grabbed Stiles’ wrist as he was about to walk back over to his desk, anchoring him to where he’d moved to stand next to the mattress.

Stiles pulse spiked at the contact and he wished for the millionth time in his life that he was around someone who couldn't hear that. Though, even if Derek _was_ human, he’d still probably be able to feel it the way he was clutching the younger man’s wrist.

“Thank you.” It sounded like forcing the words out was actually causing him pain and it was so ridiculous that Stiles had to bite his lip from laughing outright.

Of course, that might have just been the hysteria this entire evening was causing him.

“Uh, yeah, no problem man. I mean, what was I gonna do? Leave you to bleed out on my porch? No way. My dad would _kill_ me for staining the concrete like that; not to mention the fact that there would be paperwork and a lot of hard to answer questions…” Stiles trailed off on his ramble, ending in a lighthearted laugh that came out a bit more shrill than he would have liked.

What? Derek was practically holding his hand and this was all just so ridiculous he deserved a medal for not losing it ages ago.

“I need to leave.” He sighed, almost too quiet for stiles to hear. “I shouldn't have come here.”

“Hey, Deaton wouldn't let want you wandering around the streets in that state either.”

“No that’s not- I shouldn't have involved you in this. I’m sorry.” Derek finally let go, using both hands to push himself off the bed into a wobbly standing position.

“Nuh-uh, no sir. You are sitting back down before you fall over. I can’t pick up your dead weight and I don’t want to be tripping all over you when I leave you there; cuz I totally will. Don’t test me.”

“Stiles.” The unsteadiness of his body was not reflected in his voice one bit, but there _was_ a hint of resignation there. Stiles mentally fist-pumped, counting this as a victorious argument against the werewolf. No victory is a small victory when it comes to beating werewolves.

He let Stiles put his hands on his shoulders and push him back into a sitting position on the edge of the bed, though his expression was a deep scowl like it was some terrible hardship _not_ to be thrown out of the teen’s house.

“Scott mentioned that you were still having nightmares.” Derek was studying the floor between his feet as he spoke.

All of the good-natured humor and lighthearted hysteria left Stiles with a rush, instantly replaced by a lead feeling in his gut; guilt, rage, annoyance, all crashing into him in a matter of seconds.

“ _That’s_ what all of this is about?! Why you didn't call for backup even though you _knew_ I was free? Why you haven’t even spoken to me in the past couple of weeks? What, have you guys been scheduling pack meetings behind my back now too, or was Scott actually telling the truth about there not being any supernatural mayhem going on?” Stiles’ chest was heaving and he was pretty sure his guess about the concussion was right if Derek’s flinching from the volume of his voice was anything to go by.

It definitely couldn't be guilt.

Could it?

“Yes.” Was the clipped response. There was still a distinct lack of eye contact going on, which was pretty unusual for Derek considering the guy went around like he made a living with those glares.

“Yes what? One of those was and either/or not a yes/no.”

Derek closed his eyes and took a deep breath, like he was dealing with a child and his patience was wearing thin.

“Scott mentioned the nightmares, we all noticed that you’ve been more withdrawn, and we thought it’d be best if you had a break from all of this “supernatural mayhem” for a bit. You need time to-”

“Fuck you.”

Derek’s head snapped up and the hurt look on his face clearly showed that he was not prepared for that response, but Stiles couldn't help it.

“You two _really_ thought that after being trapped inside my own head with no control over my actions whatsoever that _it’d be best_ to MAKE DECISIONS FOR ME? Really?” He laughed, humorless and harshly. “I can understand it from Scott; he doesn't understand what the guilt feels like, doesn't get what it’s like to wake up screaming about things that happened because of your actions, because you were too weak to stop them. But _you_ …” Stiles was still glaring incredulously at Derek, whose expression was slowly morphing from shocked hurt to crumbling guilt.

“ _You_ of _all people_ should get that this is _not_ ok. You _don’t_ get to choose how I cope with this! You _don’t_ get to make my decisions for me! You _don’t_ get to take away the only avenue of repentance I have!” Stiles was suddenly wrapped in a tight, somewhat unsteady, embrace; his words having dissolved into sobs. He was still angry, still shouting anything and everything that came to mind, but Derek didn't let go. Or interrupt. Just kept holding him and running a hand up and down his spine, between his shoulder blades, waiting for the anger and tension to dry up.

“You have nothing to repent for.” Derek murmured against his ear once he’d finally talked himself out of words.

Stiles pushed back out of his arms just enough to glare at him incredulously.

“I’m sorry, I know you have a head injury, but I didn't realize it came with amnesia. I _killed_ people Derek.”

“Goddammit Stiles! _You. Did. Not. Kill. Those. People._ It wasn't your fault.” He snarled, shaking the younger man a little.

Stiles just looked at him like he was an idiot.

“How are you not choking on your own hypocrisy right now? How many times have I uttered that same thing to you since the zombie smurf incident?”

Stiles had taken to referring to Kate as “zombie smurf” as it _slightly_ cut down on the ragey-growls and angry twitches that accompanied the mention of her name. He’d spent the month during which she stalked and psychologically tortured Derek before finally being laid to rest permanently (read: chopped into pieces, burned, and scattered to the wind), trying not to let the werewolf completely regress into the traumatized mess he’d been when he came back to Beacon Hills.

“Well maybe if it gets repeated enough _one_ of us will believe it.” Derek deadpanned.

“I can’t just pretend like it didn't happen.” The anger was quickly fading into exhaustion and Stiles really just wanted this conversation to be over. He wasn't sure he could take much more tonight.

“You can’t keep shouldering all of this blame either.”

“You know better than anyone, it doesn't work like that.”

No matter how many times he heard it, no matter how many people told him, there was still a part of him that felt completely responsibly for what the Nogitsune did while in his body. He knew it wasn't logical, but he couldn't help but second guess everything he’d done, wondering if he’d been stronger or smarter if maybe it wouldn't have been able to use him like that.

“So what am I supposed to do?” Derek sounded almost as tired as Stiles, who didn't miss the way that he’d shift from using “we” to “I.” “Keeping you away from all of this obviously isn't working.”

 “Just… Just let me help. I can’t sit around and do nothing. I can’t be helpless anymore.” His voice dropped low when saying the last part; even standing so close a human probably wouldn't have heard it.

Derek reached for him.

“You’re not-”

“Don’t.” He swatted Derek’s hand away and moved to sit on the bed, or more like collapse onto it. His legs suddenly felt too weak to hold him up. “Please don’t patronize me.”

“I’m not.” Derek came over and sat down next to him, running a hand over his face like he had to work himself up to his next sentence. “Stiles, you’re the strongest human I've ever met.”

The teen rolled his eyes at him.

“You know I don’t mean physically.”

“This whole method of insulting me to make me feel better? It’s definitely working; continue, please.” Stiles sneered sarcastically, though he did have to admit he was feeling a bit better.

“The Nogitsune took enough from all of us; don’t let it take you too.” The raw earnest with which he spoke made Stiles look up from where he’d been worrying a loose thread on his pants.

Derek’s expression was soft and if Stiles didn't know him any better he would say those hazel eyes were trying to keep tears from pour out.

Without thinking he grabbed Derek’s hand and laced their fingers together.

“Hey, I’m not, gonna do anything stupid. The guilt I’m feeling over what happened with the Nogitsune is nothing compared to how I feel even _thinking_ about putting my dad through that. I just need to make things right, in my own way. And I need you and Scott and everyone else to stop tiptoeing around and let me. Ok?”

Derek nodded.

“Now, I am officially exhausted and I haven’t even been mauled by a werewolf tonight, so I can’t imagine how you’re managing to keep your eyes open. I say we get some sleep and tomorrow we can pretend like none of this ever happened. Yeah?”

Derek heaved a deep breath, letting Stiles’ hand fall to the bed as he stood up.

“I think my leg is fully healed. I should go.”

Stiles’ stomach knotted suddenly. He’d thought… well he didn't know what he thought was happening between them, but he certainly wasn't expecting Derek to jump at the chance to leave.

“Oh, um, alright then.”

“Unless…”

Stiles raised his eyebrows, hopeful at the next words to come out of the were’s mouth.

“If you think I should-that is, if you wanted I could-”

He let out a breath he didn't realize he’d been holding.  

“Stay.” He said, before his brain could stop him.

It wasn't a question.

Stiles got up and clicked off the light (the beams from the moon pouring in through his window were strong enough for him to see his way) and walked back over to Derek, taking his hand and climbing back into bed, making sure to leave plenty of room for the wolf. He could feel his heart pounding, knew that Derek would be able to hear it too, but he didn't care.

_Headlong or not at all._

Much to his surprise (and pleasure), leaving extra space wasn't necessary because as soon as they laid down, Derek pulled him close, burying his face in the younger man’s neck. Stiles welcomed to embrace, folding his body into Derek’s as much as possible in one of the most encompassing hugs he’d ever experienced.

He didn't realize how much he needed this.

“I’m sorry about what Scott and I did. I just can’t lose you too.” Derek whispered against his head.

“Says the man who showed up on my doorstep tonight almost dead. Seems you have some flawed logic there sir.” Stiles’ tone was light, but the death grip he had on Derek made it clear that it wasn't a sight he was comfortable seeing.

“I've never claimed to be perfect.” The werewolf replied, far too seriously.

Stiles didn't know what they were doing right now or at what point exactly this night had turned into what it was, but this was definitely not just friendly concern anymore.

If it ever had been.

 “Looks like we have something in common.” He couldn't deny what Derek was saying, the guy had made some pretty huge mistakes and had a couple glaring character flaws, but he was a far cry being the person Stiles had thought he was the first time he’d seen him back in Beacon Hills. And Stiles sure as hell wasn't the same person he’d been back then. They’d both done things they couldn't take back; been a part of something that would leave a mark on their lives forever.

“You’re so much better than you give yourself credit for.” Derek’s hand smoothed down Stiles’ back, over his shoulder and chest, like he was feeling to make sure Stiles was real and there.

“Right back at ya, big guy.” Stiles shifted and put his hand under Derek’s chin the tilt his head up so they could look at each other. It was ridiculously dark from where Stiles was laying, but he could see the basic outline of the other man’s face and he knew his own truthful expression would be seen.

They stayed like that for a few minutes; forehead to forehead, breathing each other’s air, hand in hand. Letting the silence say what neither of them were ready to verbalize yet.

Stiles, of course, was the one to break the quiet first.

“Promise me you’ll stop running around trying to get yourself killed.”

“I don’t _try_ to get myself killed Stiles.” The human glared, knowing full well that Derek would be able to see it. “Fine. I’ll make more of an effort to call for back up when I can.”

“And you’ll stop going behind my back when there’s something dangerous and supernatural wreaking havoc?”

Derek sighed.

“I’ll talk to Scott about it, but if there’s even the smallest indication that it’s doing you more harm than good then-”

“The next words out of your mouth better be that you’ll let me make up my own mind on whether or not I want to continue, or so help me God I’m kicking you out of this bed.” Stiles interrupted.

“Fine. But I know you and I know what guilt can do to a person, so if I notice that you’re pushing yourself to an unhealthy extent I _will_ involve Scott and your father.”

Stiles opened his mouth to protest but Derek put his hand over it and kept going.

“I’d rather have you pissed at me than dead or locked up somewhere.”

Stiles’ eyes were adjusting to the darkness by now and he could just make out the pleading look on his bedfellow’s face; all of his arguments died on the tip of his tongue.

He pulled the hand off of his mouth, but kept it entwined with his own.

“Sounds fair.”

Derek must’ve been expecting him to argue because he opened his mouth to say something, then closed it immediately after like he was in shock.

Stiles took the opportunity to snuggle in more comfortably against his chest, turning them a bit so that Derek was on his back holding Stiles against his side with their legs tangled together.

“I’m glad my house was so conveniently located to your fight to the death.”

Derek actually _laughed_. Well, if was more like a huff, but still.  

“It wasn't at all. It actually would have been about a mile less of a walk to go to Scott’s, but I wanted to make sure you were ok. The Alpha said-” Derek swallowed hard and Stiles started smoothing a hand over his chest. “He alluded to paying you a visit early tonight and I was almost completely sure he was bullshitting me-”

“But you had to be positive.”

“Yeah. And then by the time I made it here, I really didn't have the energy to go anywhere else.” There was a pause while Stiles mulled this over.

“That was the universe telling you that you should have come to me in the first place.” He replied, his sarcasm rearing up to lighten the heavy mood they could easily fall back into. It was getting too late for any more serious talks tonight. There’d be time for that later.

He hoped.

“You know, you should probably say that again, I’m not sure fifty times is enough for one night.” Derek griped, though there was no real malice in his tone.

“I will keep saying it until it sinks in.” Stiles countered.

“I get it, alright? Always come to Stiles first.”

Stiles bit his lip to keep quiet, but his body was practically vibrating with laughter, his sleepiness making the innuendo much funnier than it probably should have been.

Derek put a hand over his eyes and groaned.

“Stop laughing, you know that’s not how I meant that.”

“No, no, no. You've already said it, you can’t take it back. Besides, it’s a good rule to live by any way you take it.”

Derek glared, but now that they were angled differently so that the moonbeams shone on his silhouette, Stiles could tell he was trying not to crack up.

“Ok, now that double entendre was entirely accidentally. Freudian slip.” He promised, laughing even harder now.  

“Shut up and go to sleep.” Derek tried to disguise his laugh as a grumbled, closing his eyes and turning his head away from Stiles.

“I always knew you’d be bossy in bed.”

“I’m going to gag you.”

“And kinky too. Derek, you’re turning into a stereotype. What’s next? Biting? Handcu-” his words turned into high _manly_ (read: high pitched) shrieks as Derek turned around and reached his hands under the rambling man’s shirt, ghosting his fingertips over the soft flesh of his sides.

After about a minute of flailing and yelling Stiles caved and called a truce.

“That was unexpected; and equal part horrifying and sexy. Please never do it again.” He requested matter of factly.

“You promised to be quiet if I stopped.”

“I didn't say immediately.” Derek reached forward and Stiles nearly fell off the bed trying to get away. “Ok, ok you win. I’m going to come back over there to lay down now, keep your hands where I can see them.”

Derek tucked his hands behind his head, waiting for Stiles to settle against his chest again before wrapping him up in his arms.

“G’night Derek.” He hummed, and it was immediately followed by a light brush of fingers against his skin.

Stiles closed his eyes and a smile still played on his lips that he had no desire to force away.

This felt good.

It was undefined and a little strange and probably going to be a lot of trouble and work, but for the moment there was nowhere else in the world he would rather be than here. 

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Teen Wolf belongs to Jeff Davis and MTV, not me. I just like writing something happy for these poor characters since he doesn't seem to want to.


End file.
